The Divided Child

Butwhen the turquoise sea darkened, and the oncoming storm filled the sky withclouds -- obscuring the brilliant sunlight for which Greece is famous, I stareddown from the wall of Corfu's Old Fortress at a scene suddenly familiar.

Acurving bay of steel-blue water.Cream-colored buildings rising gracefully above a grey stoneescarpment.A verdant swath oftrees draped around the town like a necklace, and a veil of grey cloudsdarkening toward the horizon to match the sea.All that was missing was the frame.

Asa girl, I'd often gazed up at the small watercolor hanging above my bed,dreaming of adventure and faraway lands.Some days I’d wander the twisting streets searching for pirates.Other days I'd dive into the cool waterof the bay and emerge from the surf with arms full of treasure.And sometimes, when I was feelingespecially brave, I’d board one of the brightly painted ships anchored in theharbor and sail off in search of my father, a wanderer lost on his journeyhome.

Thememory made my throat ache.

Icontemplated the view.It hadchanged remarkably little in twenty-eight years.My parents had been to Greece only once -- on theirhoneymoon.I was born ninemonths later, and my grandfather considered it an established fact and a pointof great honor that I'd been conceived on Greek soil.Perhaps that's why the picture had been hung in my room, thoughI can't say for sure.Mother nevertalked about it.I was fifteenbefore I knew it had been painted by my father.

Myreminiscences were interrupted by a sudden spate of German.Two tourists, a blond man and a blonderyoung woman, walked hand-in-hand past where I sat on the crumbling wall.He offered me a brief nod, she acursory smile, before their attention snapped back to each other.I watched them climb out of sight,their feet scrunching on the loose gravel, and felt -- with relief -- the pastrecede.

Istood up and dusted off my pants, reminding myself this was a vacation, not awake.A cold gust of wind whippedby, causing me to shiver.Theclouds overhead had grown darker.It was time to leave, before this unexpected May rainstorm did more thanjust threaten.I hesitated, thenturned to go.

Fateis a strange thing.The ancientGreeks believed a person’s destiny was a thread to be spun, measured, and cutat whim by the gods.Yet we don’tlive in isolation; our fates are woven together.And sometimes a single act -- a small tug on a delicate line-- can pull the weave apart.IfI’d just gone back to my hotel that morning and forgotten my father’s paintingcome to life, things would have turned out differently.But I, like Orpheus, could not resisttemptation.I looked back, anxiousfor one last glimpse of that scene from my childhood, and inadvertently Istarted the whole bloody pattern unraveling.

Idon’t remember how the letter got into my hands.I must have disinterred it from its resting place in mywallet, but I did so mechanically, without conscious thought.One minute I was staring at the view,the next my eyes were fixed on a single blue sheet, worn and creased fromcountless readings.

Christine,

Idon't know how to make this clear without just coming out and saying it.I don’t want to see you again.Difficult as it may be for you toaccept, you're no longer a part of my life.You're a grown woman now.It's high time you forget the past and get on with creatinga life of your own.

Angus

Istared down at the signature.Angus.Strange how he’dnever wanted us to call him anything else, almost as if by refusing the titleof father he could avoid its reality.Yet names don’t matter to children; when he’d gone, the hurt had beenthe same.I crumpled the letter,angry that reading it had somehow made me feel a child again.Against my will, I began to cry insmall, hiccuping bursts.

Agull keened loudly overhead, mocking me.I sent the tightly wadded letter sailing over the wall and out of sight,and for a moment felt a profound sense of relief.Then depression returned, hastened no doubt by the darkeningsky.I turned away and for thesecond time prepared to leave.

"Excuseme --"

Ispun around.The voice had seemedto come from directly behind me, but behind me was only the wall and emptyair.I looked left and right.Nobody.My heart began to beat faster.

"Downhere."

Thevoice was high and sweet.I feltrather sheepish as I moved toward the wall and looked down.A young boy, perhaps nine or ten, stoodlooking up at me from moss-covered steps some fifteen feet below.He had brown hair and pale skin andgreen eyes which curved down at the outside corners.His expression was solemn for a boy his age, like a grave littleowl.

"Thatobvious, eh?" I pulled a Kleenex from my purse and blotted my eyes.

Heshook his head."I heard youcrying."

"Iwas remembering something sad, that’s all,” I murmured, embarrassed this youngstranger had been a witness to my weeping.

Helooked up at me with sympathetic eyes.Something in the look made my lip tremble dangerously.Time to change the subject.

"Howdid you get down there, anyway?" I demanded in a firmer tone.I peered to the right where the stonesteps rose up and disappeared behind a curve in the wall.He didn't answer, so I circled aroundand found the archway where the steps began.It was barred with a locked metal gate, and there was a signwarning in Greek: "KINDUNOS!MUN ELATE!" "DANGER!DO NOT ENTER!"Craning to seearound a large, ferny plant, I could see the reason for the sign.Descending steeply about fifty feet,the steps led down to a flat balcony of rock.Beyond that, there was no railing or parapet, only a cliff whichdropped several hundred feet to the sea.

Iran back to warn him, but when I leaned over the wall, he was gone.The mossy step he'd been standing onwas empty.I retreated backwards,trying to think of a rational explanation, but frightening mental images of theboy tumbling into the sea kept pushing rationality aside.

Thetap on my arm made me jump.Iwhirled around to find him looking up at me, his green eyes quiteinnocent."How--"

Hesmiled and for a moment was transformed from sad owl to mischievous elf."There's a secret passage.Care to see it?"

"Ithink so.It's about torain."

Asheavy drops began to pelt our faces, he took my hand and led me across thegravel to a cobblestone road which led downward toward the castle's base.His secret passage -- a narrow tunnelfrom the interior of the fortress out to the battlements -- proved an excellentshelter from what turned out to be a very brief downpour.When we emerged out onto the flatbalcony of rock I'd seen before, it was puddled with water, but the rain haddiminished to a mere drizzle.

"LuckyI met up with you,” I remarked.

"Happyto be of service."He flasheda grin that sent his eyebrows adorably askew."Oh, that reminds me!"He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out somethingblue and crumpled."Thereason I called up to you.Youdropped this."

Heheld it out to me.It was thediscarded letter.I snatched itfrom his hand, shoving it quickly back into my purse.

Hisgrin began to fade."I sawthe writing,” he said.“I thoughtit might be important."

"No."My sharp tone caused what was left of hissmile to disappear."Look,I’ve got to get going,” I said."Goodbye."

"Goodbye,"he echoed softly.

Istarted to leave.He made no moveto follow."You will becareful out here, won't you?" I asked, suddenly anxious about leaving himthere alone.He nodded, but Irealized halfway through the tunnel I couldn't just walk away.He'd probably be fine, but I had to besure. I turned and went back."It's none of my business, but does your family know you'rehere?"For a moment he lookeddefiant, then slowly he shook his head.That did it.Now I wasstuck."What hotel are theyat?" I asked reluctantly.

"We'renot staying at a hotel.We have ahouse north of town.”He flashedme a worried look.“You’re notgoing to tell them I was here, are you?"

"No,"I admitted, "not if you don't want me to.But I can't in good conscience leave you to wander aroundhere by yourself, either.It’s notsafe.Perhaps I should put you ina taxi home."

"ButI can't leave yet!” he exclaimed, his voice high with chagrin.“I'll be careful, I promise!”

Ifrowned.It wasn’t really my placeto tell the poor kid what to do, but I felt a nagging sense of disquiet atleaving him on his own.The mentalimage of him tumbling over that cliff had been a little too vivid.

“Please,I just want to stay another hour or so.An hour won't hurt anything, will it?"His voice had turned coaxing.

"Anhour, eh?"I glanced at mywatch.It was only a little afternine."Sounds okay to me.Now that the rain’s over, maybe I’ll tagalong."

Hehesitated for a moment, then gave a small shrug."I suppose that would be all right."

Isighed.So much for reversepsychology."Great.My name’s Christine, by the way.Christine Stewart.”I held out my hand.

Afteranother moment’s hesitation he took it. "I’m Michael Redfield."

"Well,Michael, what would you like to do now?"

Hedidn't answer.

"Howabout taking me on a tour of this place?You seem to know quite a bit about it."